


Mother

by yotsubanoclover



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Backstory, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Issues, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Saeran Choi, Prime Minister Choi, Romance, Saeran Week, Saeyoung Choi - Freeform, mother - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-14 23:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15399873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yotsubanoclover/pseuds/yotsubanoclover
Summary: "Wherever you are now, I hope you are happy."When an old lady called Saeran out for his rare red hair, saying it was familiar, he knew immediately she was talking about his mother. Intrigued, he urges the lady to tell him more about "the beautiful girl with red hair" - but is he really ready to hear his mother's story?





	Mother

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for Saeran Week day 3 - Childhood, Memories

Saeran drawing is not a rare sight, but this is the first time you notice him drawing a person, instead of flowers or scenery.

You take a peek. “What are you drawing?”

“Oh…” He is smiling shyly, half showing half hiding his work-in-progress. “It is not finished yet.”

It’s a drawing of a woman, you notice. She is tall and thin, with long and wavy hair. It looks like she is standing up, with both of her hands on her sides. Although Saeran has drawn half of her body, she is still faceless - no eyes, nose, mouth, or any expression of sort. The absence of the face strikes you as odd - maybe he plans to draw them last?

“That’s not me,” you blurt out, trying to sound like you are disappointed.

“Yeah…” He hesitates. “This is… I’m drawing my mother.”

“Oh?” You’re not sure how to react. What you do know, though, is that there is a story behind this that he hasn’t told you yet. After all, you know better than anyone that Saeran doesn’t have good memories with his mother - so why the sudden drawing? He’s always been drawing the things he loves - the sky, the flowers in the garden, the scenery around home - so why his mother?

_Is it a good thing to ask?_

“I’ll tell you why,” Saeran suddenly says. Whoops, you must’ve said it out loud. He gestures you to sit next to him as he continues the sketch. It is a peaceful morning; the breeze is gentle, the birds are chirping in the garden, and the sound of Saeran’s pencil moving around the sketch book somehow makes it even more relaxing.

“So… I’ve been visiting my old neighborhood lately,” he starts. “Last time, I met someone who knows my mother. She’s an old lady who’s lived in the neighborhood for a long time, and was on her way to the church when she called out to me.”

* * *

( _Saeran’s point of view_ )

You know me - I didn’t even notice her until she called out. “Um, excuse me?”

I stopped, turning to face her. “Yes?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude, but you look a lot like someone I know,” she continued. Then her hands moved, as if to touch my hair - which is getting more and more like the original color - but she stopped herself. “There used to be a young girl in this neighborhood with a beautiful red hair just like yours.” She mentioned a name.

Immediately I knew she was talking about my mother. After asking her to tell me more about the said young lady, I walked with her to a small park nearby the church, where we could sit down and talk. Even though I was a stranger, she didn’t even hesitate to let down her guards and talked freely, as if telling a bedtime story. Her voice was soothing. Somehow, I felt as if I’d known her for ages.

“She was a very beautiful young lady, you know. Of course, her red hair is rare and all, but she was also a gentle and friendly lady who frequented the church. Everyone knew her, enjoyed her presence. Including myself. In fact, I’ve known her ever since she was a little girl.

“She came from a respectable family - not rich, but pretty well-off for that time, I’d say. Her parents were very strict with her, as the only child. As they were very busy all the time, she spent most of her time helping at the church. Yes, she used to be one of the lead singers in the church choirs - one of the best, even! If only you could listen to her sing the gospel songs!

“Aside from the choir, she also helped tending the garden sometimes - she was never good with her hands, you see, but she’s a hard worker. Every time I went to church, I would always see her there, busy helping whoever might need her help.”

To be honest, although I was listening quietly the whole time, I started to become unsure whether she was really talking about Mother. The mother I know was someone who was drunk all the time, and was never hesitant to resort to violence to make me and my brother listen to her. The mother I know had hoarse voice from screaming all the time - I know no kind words from her.

But suddenly the woman’s face turned grim and her tone of voice changed.

“Though, there was always one thing bothering me.”

Surprised at the sudden change, I couldn’t help asking. “What is it?”

“Well, this didn’t happen often, so I always thought it to be my own imaginations. Sometimes when she was alone, her eyes would look as if they’re somewhere else, staring at nothing, losing their usual shine.

“Then, at one point - really only once - she accidentally splashed herself with water and had to roll her sleeves while watering the plants - that’s when I noticed bluish bruises on her arm. I’d ask her, and she’d say something like she fell and whatnot. She’d always wear shirts with long sleeves and long trousers - was it to cover her bruises? I never had the chance to ask her again, because I started seeing her less and less… until no one heard about her anymore for years.

“Then one day she was found dead in a rundown house nearby - her late parents have long moved away before then and we all thought that she, too, went along. Turns out, she didn’t.” She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “How she ended up alone in such a house, I couldn’t fathom. Rumors say she had children, but the police couldn’t find anyone.”

* * *

( _Readers’ point of view_ )

Saeran flashes a weak smile. “I couldn’t respond to her properly after that, and we soon went our separate ways - but her story stayed with me.”

You, too, cannot find the right words to say to him, so you reach out to his free hand, giving it a light squeeze, returning his smile.

“I thought about it for days - that maybe… maybe like Rika, and  _my other self_ , Mother hurt people - hurt us - because she, too, was hurt. 

“I also keep asking myself… about her relationship with  _that man_.” Saeran mentions his father looking like he ate something foul-tasting. “What if she really loved him… and was betrayed? What if there was a time she genuinely loved us… but the circumstances forced her to change? What if as time passed, me and my brother grew more and more like the man who betrayed her… reminding her of her untreated wounds? What if those wounds were the reason she always reeked of alcohol… because she wanted to forget? Once I started thinking about it, I couldn’t stop.”

Putting down his sketch book, he stares at you, his expression softening. “I know how it feels to be in love now - I couldn’t imagine losing you, at all - and maybe she, too, was like that. Not only did the love of her life betrayed her, he - and maybe her parents too - also cast her away entirely from his life, as if  _they_ never existed at all. He even tried to kill us. How would that make her feel? If I were her, I… I…” You notice him trembling, his voice breaking.

You give his hand another squeeze. “Shh… I will never leave you, Saeran.”

Taking a deep breath, he continues, smiling at you, “Of course, that doesn’t justify what she did - she still hurt me and my brother very deeply. But still, I wanted to believe that she had her reasons. And more importantly…”

Tears welled up in his eyes. “ _I want to forgive her_.”

* * *

In the empty house, Saeran left his sketch book on the table, the wind blowing the pages open, one by one. When the winds quiet down, the open page shows the finished version of a certain sketch - the pencil sketch of the woman with long, wavy hair, who is holding the hands of her small children, one on each side. They seem to be standing in a flower garden.

The two children are smiling, and so is she. A smile so bright that reaches her beautiful round eyes. A small note is written on the side. It’s Saeran’s handwriting.

_Mother… Wherever you are, I hope you are happy - like I am now._


End file.
